Come To Me In My Dreams
by OXBastetXO
Summary: When things are too hard, dreams can help ease the pain. Set a few months after the fire in the Pilot


Title: Come To Me In My Dreams  
Author: OXBastetXO  
Rating: K  
Archive: Please ask first  
Status: Complete  
Category: Drama/Angst  
Summary: When things are too hard, dreams can help ease the pain.  
Spoilers: Pilot  
Sequel/Season: Pre-series  
Authors Note: I don't own them, CW does and Matthew Arnold owns "Longing". I'm just borrowing them for while and promise to give them back when I'm done, though I might just keep Dean and the Impala little longer ;-)

Special Thanks: Thanks to RowanRhys for helping me find the poem that's been stuck in my head all day and inspired this little fic. She's the sweet Sis of my Heart who totally read my mind when I mentioned a line from the poem and knew exactly who wrote it and the name of the poem!!!

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Longing

_By_

_Matthew Arnold_

_Come to me in my dreams, and then_

_By day I shall be well again!_

_For so the night will more than pay_

_The hopeless longing of the day.  
_

_Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times,_

_A messenger from radiant climes,_

_And smile on thy new world, and be_

_As kind to others as to me!  
_

_Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth,_

_Come now, and let me dream it truth,_

_And part my hair, and kiss my brow,_

_And say, My love why sufferest thou?  
_

_Come to me in my dreams, and then_

_By day I shall be well again!_

_For so the night will more than pay_

_The hopeless longing of the day.

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Come To Me In My Dreams

By

OXBastetXO

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"Mary, I can't do this," John Winchester whispered softly. He closed his eyes and leaned back into the pillow under his head. The ache in his heart so profound there was nothing else it seemed in his world. 

Mary's lithe form made the bed sag as she moved to sit beside him, leaning in and kissing her husband's forehead, brushing a lock of his hair back from his forehead. "You can, John. You know you can."

"Dean—"

Mary smiled softly. "Is just like his Daddy," she finished. "Stubborn, pig headed," a light teasing tone softened her words, "brave, loving, kind, giving to a fault, protective of his baby brother."

"He won't talk to me, Mary. He won't talk to anyone. Not since…since—" he couldn't bring himself to finish. "He just sits and stares. He just won't respond to anything. He doesn't even cry."

Mary moved in closer to him, her body warm and supple against his. She rested her chin on his chest staring into his eyes. Her sea green eyes understanding. "He will. He just needs time."

"How much time? I feel like I'm losing him." Tears burned his eyes. "Losing him, like I lost you."

"You won't lose him. He's scared. He just needs time to sort this all out."

John sighed. "Sammy won't remember you."

Mary smiled sadly. "You and Dean will keep me alive to him. You're memories will make me real."

"I can't do this, Mary. I can't do this without," John said, desperation palatable in his voice.

Mary brushed her fingers through his hair and kissed his temple softly. "You can and will, John Winchester." She rested her hand over his heart. "I'm never really gone as long as you remember me." She leaned in, her breath warm and sweet against his face. "As long as you remember me," she whispered, her lips touching his.

John blinked his eyes open. He could still feel the warm touch of his wife's lips against his own, but the cold emptiness of the bed beside him told him that it had only been a dream. He sighed, his head falling back limply on the lump pillow in the ratty dump of a motel room they had stopped at for the night. The musty room had been cheap, but relatively clean.

A soft noise caught his attention and he looked up. Dean stood mutely at the side of the bed staring at him with intense green eyes. Mary's eyes. The boy's eyes were red rimmed and his face flushed with unshed tears.

"Hey, tiger," John said, sitting up and reaching out for the boy, pulling him into his arms. "What's wrong?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. Dean hadn't spoken to anyone since the fire a few months before.

"I dreamed about Mommy," Dean said, his voice small and hollow, rough from disuse.

John pulled back in surprise at the answer. He set Dean on his lap. "What did you dream?" he asked cautiously.

The little boy laid his head against John's shoulder. "Mommy said not to be sad. She said I need to take care of you and Sammy. She said she's with—" Dean stared at his hands resting on his lap. "She said she's with the angels, but I don't believe in angels any more Daddy. They didn't protect Mommy. Mommy said angels protect people from bad things, but they didn't protect her!" Anger flushed the boy's face and tears started to stream down his cheeks.

John hugged the boy fiercely. "Shh," he soothed rocking the boy and rubbing his back in small tight circles. Dean sobbed into his shoulder, clinging tightly to him. "It will be okay," he kept repeating over and over. He had been saying that a lot lately. Maybe if he said it enough times they would start to believe it.

He looked over and Sammy was sitting up in the playpen that was serving double duty as a crib while they traveled. Sammy watched as John rocked Dean in his arms. John gave his youngest a smile and the baby smiled back.

John closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to the top of Dean's head. "It will be okay. I promise," he said, as the worst of Dean's tears wearing down into hiccups.

John felt a familiar presence filling the room and he smiled sadly. "It will be okay," he repeated. He finally had a feeling it would.


End file.
